


Leave Me Where I Am (I'm Only Sleeping)

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-30
Updated: 2008-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been watching Sam sleep for years.  First posted March, 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me Where I Am (I'm Only Sleeping)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Season 3.

i.

Dean peers over side of the playpen that's set up in the middle of the living room. Mommy put Sammy in there a little while ago, but he's not playing like he's supposed to. He's sleeping, and that makes Dean mad. If Sammy wants to sleep, he should do it in his crib, and then the playpen won't be in Dean's way. Sammy's supposed to sleep in his crib and play in his playpen.

Dean wants to play with his Matchbox cars, but Sammy's messing it up. He's in the way, and Mommy wants Dean to be quiet so he doesn't wake Sammy up.

So Dean sits down on the floor next to the playpen and glowers at Sammy. He glares and glares, but there's no one there to see and after a while his face gets tired. Sammy's eyelids flutter in his sleep, and his mouth moves like it does when he's drinking his bottle. It makes Dean sort of sleepy to watch him.

And then Sammy makes a noise, the kind Dean knows you're not supposed to make when there's other people nearby, and his fists start waving around in the air. He screws his face up and Dean can tell even before Sammy starts crying, just from the stinky smell, that Sammy needs his diaper changed.

Good. That means Dean can play with his cars, and he makes car noises with his mouth as he runs them along the floor around Sammy's playpen.

 

ii.

Dean sits on the edge of Sammy's bed, Sam's back rigid behind him. He knows Sammy's shoulders are shaking, knows he's crying. Dean's not sure if he's afraid of the monsters Dean just told him are real, afraid Dad's not coming back, or just upset because now he knows Santa Claus doesn't exist. It doesn't matter. Sam's upset and Dean needs to figure out a way to fix it.

He sits on Sammy's bed until Sam's sniffles shift into the soft, regular breaths that mean he's asleep. Dean gets up carefully and tugs his jacket on. One glance back at Sam and then he slips silently out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him, making sure it's locked.

It's cold out and the snow stings his cheeks as he moves down the street, sticking close to the fences that surround the neat, dark houses, staying in the shadows of the trees as he crosses the lawn of the most promising looking house. It has the biggest tree in the front window, so Dean figures there's got to be some good loot in there.

He picks the lock on the front door with practiced ease, poised to run like hell in case there's a security system. The houses aren't really fancy enough for that, he doesn't think, and sure enough, the door opens without a sound.

Dean scopes out the pile of presents under the tree, and grabs two likely looking ones. He has no clue what they are, but he's not about to unwrap them here to take a look.

He's in and out of the house in just under two minutes, and he thinks Dad would be proud. As he moves soundlessly off the porch, he snags a string of lights off a bush and a few evergreen branches that are sticking up out of a big basket at the top of the porch steps.

Sammy's still asleep when Dean lets himself back into their room and he works quickly to drape the lights over the branches that he props up in the trash can from the bathroom. He sets the two presents under the makeshift tree, and turns to wake Sam up.

Sammy's still curled up on his side, shivering a little under the covers. Dean takes a deep breath, then shakes Sam's shoulder and says, "Sam, wake up! Dad was here, look what he brought."

 

iii.

Sam shifts again, and Dean hears an actual whimper. Under normal circumstances, he'd tease the hell out of Sam when he woke up, but circumstances haven't been normal since Jessica died. Or since Sam went away to college, but Dean never lets himself think much about those years, now that they're over.

A frown appears between Sam's eyes and his head tosses on the pillow. "No," he whines. "Jess, no."

Dean doesn't know what to do here. Sam hasn't been sleeping much since they started up their long, endless road trip again, the one Dean thinks of as his normal life and Sam thinks of as some kind of abnormal life sentence. So now he's sleeping, but which is worse, no sleep, or the nightmares?

Sam's breathing rapidly now, and a tear slips out from under his closed eyelids. "Please," he moans.

Fuck this, Dean decides.

He gets out of his bed and moves across the short distance to Sam's. Reaching out a hand, he shakes Sam's shoulder gently, ready to move back out of the way in case Sam wakes up swinging. It's been known to happen and Dean is careful.

"Sam, Sammy, come on now, dude, wake up." Dean waits, and shakes Sam's shoulder again when there's no sign of violence. Dean's nose is safe from being popped this time.

Sam opens his eyes slowly. "Huh?" he mumbles, blinking up at Dean.

"Nightmare," Dean says succinctly.

"Oh." Sam's eyes cloud with grief and guilt. "Oh."

Dean considers Sam's unhappy face. "Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over," he says again, and shoves his way into Sam's bed. Sam moves, unresisting, and Dean curves behind him, arm around Sam's waist.

"You're too short to be the big spoon," Sam grumbles tiredly.

Dean tightens his arm. "Shut up and go to sleep."

 

iv.

Sam's asleep. He's just asleep, that's all. Dean's watched him sleep all his life, and this is what it looks like. This is familiar, there's nothing wrong here, nothing at all.

Dean wonders if Sam's cold without any covers, thinks about going to look for a blanket to cover him up with, but he can't make himself move. He can't leave Sam alone. If he leaves him alone, something bad could happen.

Dean studies Sam's face, looking for the tell-tale eye movements that mean he's dreaming. He doesn't see them, but maybe Sam's just not dreaming right now. Dean had a dream the other night, before Sam disappeared into that diner. It was a good one, full of Sam's smiling face and laughing eyes, his hands warm on Dean's body. Dean struggles to remember how that felt, but it mostly slipped away when Sam did, the way dreams sometimes do.

Sam's hands aren't warm right now, they're cold to Dean's touch. Dean rubs Sam's fingers, trying to increase the circulation, trying to bring warmth back to them so they can touch Dean again.

Dean doesn't like Sam's color and he thinks again about going for that blanket. Sam's face is mottled, his nail beds blue, and Dean shivers. He hadn't noticed it was that cold in here, but it must be. Sam is so cold, it must be the air in this room.

Dean watches Sam's chest, waiting for it to rise and fall, but it doesn't. Sometimes when Sammy's sleeping, if he's sleeping peacefully enough, it's hard to see him breathing. Sam must be sleeping really peacefully right now, and that makes Dean feel glad. Sam deserves a good night's sleep.

Bobby comes up behind him in the doorway, holding a bucket of KFC, of all things. Dean turns and takes a swig of whiskey from the bottle on the table. Bobby watches him, then says, in a voice so gentle Dean wants to scream, "Dean, I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time we buried Sam?"

Dean says the only thing he can. "No."

 

v.

Dean eases the closed laptop out from under Sam's head and replaces it with one of the flat, lumpy pillows from the bed, trying not to wake him. Sam'll have one hell of a stiff neck when he does wake up, but for now, he needs the sleep more than he needs to be able to turn his head comfortably. Sam shifts in the chair, but keeps on sleeping.

There's only a few days left until – well, until Dean goes away. He still thinks about it in those words. If he thinks about it in real terms, thinks about words like death and immortal soul and Hell, it's more than he can handle. Sam doesn't push him about it any more. Dean said it out loud once, told Sam he doesn't want to go to Hell, and that was enough. It's not something they have to talk about for Sam to know.

Sam's been working so hard, trying to figure it out. Trying everything he can think of, talking to anyone who might be able to help. He's exhausted, so Dean lets him sleep.

A few hours isn't going to make any difference. There's nothing to be done and Dean knows it.

So he sits and watches over Sammy while he sleeps, keeping him safe while he still can.


End file.
